


Bonds Cast Aside

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Body Damage from Mind Damage, Gen, Helplessness, Life Bonds, Non-Consensual Bond Severing, Sad Ending, Trapped at Home Needing Assistance With No One Knowing For a Long Time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 04:05:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12856368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Obi-Wan took Anakin as his Padawan, as he promised... but Qui-Gon didn't really cover the possibility of his return from "death."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Courtesy Warning for Qui-Gon and Anakin fans: Both have become convenient antagonists for this story.

 

The knife bit deep that day in the Council chamber.

The moment Qui-Gon Jinn died was not the day Obi-Wan Kenobi lost him. And while he wept, the bond had already been broken for hours.

He'd already been alone.

He'd promised, because he _loved_ his master, and he wanted the man to _know_ before he passed.

Know that Obi-Wan did not hold resentment in his heart for what Qui-Gon had done. That while Obi-Wan could only barely understand it, and that only if he squinted his eyes very carefully, he still wouldn't hate Qui-Gon.

He could never hate his father.

Never.

The weakened edge of the pit had crumbled, dropping Qui-Gon into the abyss, horrifying Obi-Wan.

They never found the body.

Obi-Wan hadn't known it was a soul bond. Right up to the moment when Qui-Gon cut it in favor of Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan hadn't known.

And after?

He hadn't seen a point in admitting to it after.

The moment it hit, he'd hidden it, the agony the likes of which he'd never experienced in his life before. The cruel emptiness, the severed tie threatening to open a black hole within him and devour him into absolute nothingness and death.

Yes.

He'd hidden it, the way he'd learned to hide all pains from his master, knowing Qui-Gon looked down on those who whined instead of bore up bravely.

He'd wrapped a tourniquet tight around the bond, then held his soul very still, knowing anything could tear it free again.

When he went to form a bond with Anakin, he did not know  _how._ He stood there, baffled, trying to stretch out to him.

He tried to imagine what it felt like for Qui-Gon when  _they_ had bonded, but all Obi-Wan could remember were his own fervent attempts, and Qui-Gon finally just... not fighting him anymore.

_Yes, but what did he_ do _? And how do I do it?_

He finally told Anakin to reach out to him.

Of course the boy had even  _less_ idea how, but his power and heart combined in an instinctive reach.

That was the moment horror seized Obi-Wan's throat.

He found he could not stretch his soul far enough to meet Anakin's. His mind was too injured, too broken to form a link beside the bleeding, bound one.

_Dear Force, no._

He tried again, ignoring the pain, recklessly struggling to reach Anakin's extended mind.

And then something deep within Obi-Wan  _knew._

He touched the rotting wound in his soul, somehow knew this would work.

So with a grim smile, knowing this would hurt worse than anything he'd ever experienced, he opened that wound to Anakin's attempts to reach him, and drew the boy into his soul.

He trembled, hiding his pain from his Padawan as he felt it take, felt it sink roots even deeper into his soul than Qui-Gon's had reached. It almost frightened him, how deep those piercing spears sank.

It would be alright. When Anakin finally set out on his own, it would be when they both believed it to be time. It wouldn't be ripped out of either one of them, but a gentle separation of the vine that grew from them both.  
The fact Qui-Gon hadn't felt agony at severing his connection to Obi-Wan proved that unless a soul bond was reciprocated, it was no difficult thing to let go of when the time was right.

_And even if I can't let go of it then..._

_Once he's grown, out on his own, it might be a relief to be done._

Maybe severing the soul bond then would kill him.

_I would have died earlier but for Anakin. He won't be killing me, he will have given me another fifteen or so years._

_How much of me did Qui-Gon still have in his soul when he died?_

It had to have been quite a hefty chunk, since it had been torn straight out of Obi-Wan's mind.

Obi-Wan hoped it had comforted Qui-Gon at the end, falling, falling, falling...

The first year was both difficult and gentle. Obi-Wan felt astounded at what having a Padawan  _meant_ to a soul. The quiet joy that seized his heart when he watched Anakin laugh and try so earnestly to learn new skills.

Obi-Wan smiled to himself at the thought.

And then Anakin edged towards eleven years of age, and the novelty of learning had worn off.

Reading was  _difficult._ Why did he have to learn? He'd managed ten years of his life  _without_ reading, he could very well do  _without_ for the rest of them.  _He_ knew people who'd  _never_ learned, and they were  _just fine._

Sword forms were boring. He shouldn't have to learn drills, who  _cared_ if his footwork was  _perfect—_ if he  _won,_ it shouldn't matter  _how._ And he could throw Obi-Wan across the room, so what right did Obi-Wan really  _have_ to demand he get “better”?

_Define_ better, old man!

Obi-Wan felt Anakin's resentment building, Anakin's frustration ever deepening. The child felt power had more value than skill, and since he had a spectacular amount of the one, he had no need of the other.

It was going to be a long, weary road ahead. Obi-Wan gathered what courage he could find to face the future.

The day, five years after the Battle of Naboo, that Qui-Gon Jinn walked in the door nearly gave Obi-Wan a heart attack.

The stunned disbelief gave way to tear-blinded joy.

“Master,” he whispered.

Somehow, the man had survived his fall, survived his wound, and was  _here._

“Obi-Wan. You look unchanged,” Qui-Gon returned, warmth in his voice. “Where is Anakin?”

“With me,” Obi-Wan somehow managed to say.

Qui-Gon gave a nod. “I meant right this minute. I knew you would keep your promise.”  
Obi-Wan glowed with pride, even while a part of him wondered if he  _should,_ given the almost dismissive tone— it hadn't been  _meant_ to be dismissive, it proved Qui-Gon's  _trust,_ his  _faith—_

And then Anakin walked in and Qui-Gon wrapped the child in his arms, the laughter of both mingling as Anakin peppered him with questions and demands.

_I should give them a moment,_ Obi-Wan realized, silently backing out of the room.

Neither noticed him leave.

 

* * *

 

It was three days later, Obi-Wan heading for his rooms, weary after trying to find solace in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

He'd thought maybe Anakin's anger would abate, now that he could no longer blame Obi-Wan for Qui-Gon's death.

If anything, Anakin had become  _more_ resentful.

Obi-Wan suspected his fourteen-year-old had taken up gambling in Coruscant's underbelly, and he had  _no idea_ what to do—

_Ask Qui-Gon. He'll know what to do. He'll help me._

Yes.  _That_ was what he needed.

Anakin had told him again and again through the years that Qui-Gon would have been better, would have treated him  _right—_

_And of course he_ would _have been better._

Finally, Obi-Wan didn't have to struggle through this alone. Maybe there was hope, a light at the end of his dark, confusing tunnel—

He stepped into his home, the home that used to belong to himself and Qui-Gon. It had been difficult to know Qui-Gon lived on the other side of the Temple now, it had felt wrong, somehow, but this  _was_ his home with Anakin now—

That was odd.

The little ship model was gone.

Obi-Wan frowned in confusion at the empty space on the shelf.

And then he  _felt_ something. Something about the room was subtly different.

He turned, staring around their small sitting room, and realized  _nothing_ of Anakin's was here.

Heart in his throat he bolted to the door to Anakin's room, saw it was  _empty—_

Without warning or ceremony the vine in his soul was torn free. He toppled to the floor without thinking to break his fall with his hands, gnawing at his tongue and writhing in agony.

The blood of his soul burned through its broken wounds as he struggled to breathe.

He tried to crawl to the closest comlink, but he couldn't make his limbs obey him. He tried to use the Force, but it slipped from his grasp. He tried to cry out for help, but his throat betrayed him.

He lay convulsing on the floor, and eventually the blood wasn't all metaphorical.

 

* * *

 

“Anakin. Have you seen Obi-Wan?”

Anakin shrugged, not lifting his gaze from the droid parts strewn in the hallway as he answered Bant, “Uh... I guess?”

“I haven't seen him in a couple days. Do you know if he's alright?”  
“Sure. Yeah, no, he's fine.”  
“He was supposed to come check in with the Halls of Healing for that wrist sprain.”

Anakin scoffed, and  _now_ he looked up. “Is that really a surprise?”

“Does it seem to still pain him?” Bant pursued.

“I don't know,” Anakin shrugged. “I'm not his Padawan anymore, you know.”

She stared at him, apparently baffled. “What?”  
“He was only my master because everybody thought Qui-Gon was dead. So I'm Qui-Gon's Padawan now and I'm living with him.”

Bant huffed a disbelieving laugh. “But you don't have a bond with Master Jinn.”  
“Yeah, I do.”

Her face went very still as she asked, voice with an edge now, “What happened to your bond to Obi-Wan? And when did this happen?”

“It moved.” Anakin shrugged. “It's been really nice to not have him in my head anymore. Uh... three days now, I guess.”

Panic spilled into the Force around Bant, shocking Anakin. “Who was present to officiate—?”

“Nobody. I just did it. Wasn't that difficult.”

And then Bant was running, and Anakin, startled, bolted after her. “Wait!” he called, “what's wrong?” but she didn't slow for him.

He caught up to her as she punched in the Healer override and Obi-Wan's door slid open.

A cry of dismay escaped Bant, and then she was on her knees beside Anakin's former master, hands flitting over him as she tried to ascertain his state.

Anakin stared in astonishment as he saw Obi-Wan lying still, his eyes bloodshot and open, his cheeks hollow, dried and flaking blood streaking his face and the tiles, collapsed on the floor, the faint scent of urine stinging Anakin's nostrils.

Dear Force, what had happened?

Obi-Wan's gaze slowly moved to meet Bant's gaze, and a strangled groan escaped his lips.

“It's okay,” Bant lied, her voice shaking even as she tried to soothe. “It's okay. We've got you, Obi-Wan.”

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon paced the hallway outside Obi-Wan's Halls of Healing room.

He'd sensed something terrible along his bond with Anakin, had raced to meet them there.

After what seemed like hours, Bant emerged from the bustle behind the closed door.

Anakin looked up from where he was sitting, fidgeting his fingers.

“What's wrong with him?” Qui-Gon asked, his worry filling his voice.

She held up a firm pointer finger and hissed, “I  _cannot_ do this with you right now.”  
“He's my former Padawan, Bant, I need to  _know—_ ”

Bant scoffed in his face and hurried off down the hall.

Qui-Gon stared after her, astounded.

“He's dangerously dehydrated,” Bant spat, spinning around. “Hasn't eaten anything since he fell, hasn't moved, likely hasn't slept, has just been  _waiting_ for someone to realize he was  _missing_ and come looking for him.  _Three days,_ Qui-Gon Jinn.”  
“But what  _happened_ ?”

“Perhaps you remember the time you  _died_ ?”

Qui-Gon frowned. “What does that have to do with this?”

“He didn't have the strength to open a brand new bond with Anakin so soon after your death, but he refused to fail in his promise to you, so he used the torn life bond to connect to Anakin. It allowed him to be functional again. And then without warning, Anakin tore free. It sent him into shock.”  
“I didn't— I never thought—”

“That it would  _hurt_ him so much?”

“No,” Qui-Gon whispered. “A  _life bond_ ?”

His Padawan had wanted to spend the rest of his  _life_ by Qui-Gon's side?

Bant's voice was quieter when she finished, still no compassion in her voice, but the anger had passed to allow grief to show through. “He's dying, Qui-Gon. Things unraveled too far. He needed immediate psychic assistance. He's very close.”  
Qui-Gon's heart nearly stopped beating, then squeezed so tight he couldn't quite breathe.

“When he is strong enough to speak, I will ask him if he wants to see either of you. But I would prepare yourselves for the answer to be no. Would you want a visit from your killers?”  
With that, Bant hurried away, leaving the other two to stare after her in horror.

“Master,” Anakin whispered, sounding mortified, “what is a life bond?”

Qui-Gon stared down at him, unable to see through tears. “A gift.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

“You don't have to, Obi-Wan.”

He managed a smile for Vokara Che, though he doubted the chief healer bought it. “I want to see him.”

“Don't wear yourself out too much,” she cautioned before heading out the door to send his former Padawan in.

_Why? Because it might trim off some of the hours I still have left?_

Anakin stepped through the door, eyes puffy and red. He hesitated at the foot of the bed.

“Come here,” Obi-Wan breathed, beckoning.

Anakin moved, his steps hesitant and awkward. “I— I'm  _sorry._ ”

“You ran away.” Obi-Wan smiled, this one much closer to genuine, taking Anakin's hand in his. “You're hardly the first child to do such a thing. Hell. Even  _I_ did it.”

“Yeah, but, you weren't supposed to  _die_ because of it,” Anakin choked.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “That is my own foolishness. I did something dangerous because I wanted to train you so badly. I should have sought healing; had the broken bond sealed and waited until healed to bond with you.” Obi-Wan managed a small shrug. “At the time I didn't care. This is why you need to do the smart thing even when you feel numb about it, Anakin. Things don't stop mattering because you stop feeling it.”

“You still don't care,” Anakin gasped, pulling his hand away.

Obi-Wan sighed with a grim smile.

“I can  _sense_ it! You're  _dying_ and you don't even  _care._ ”

“I'm tired, Anakin.”

The boy's face twisted in anguish. “Because I was a difficult Padawan?”

“No. Because my heart died five years ago but I forced my body to keep moving.”

“ _Please let me in,_ ” a familiar voice at the door begged. Obi-Wan could hear Vokara's firm denials—

“You'll... you'll let him say goodbye, right?” Anakin asked, a tear slipping down his cheek.

Obi-Wan tried to reach up to brush it away but found he had not the strength to raise his hand that far. “Yes. Thank you, Anakin, for giving me five years. If it weren't for you, I would have succumbed long before this.”

Anakin squeezed his hand then bolted.

_You are free, little one. I hope you recover from this quickly._

The door slid open again admitting a wild man.

Obi-Wan watched in puzzlement as the creature sprang to his side, collapsing to its knees beside the bed, seizing his hand and squeezing it so hard Obi-Wan thought the bones might give way.

It had a mane of tangled gray locks, crazed eyes of blue—

Obi-Wan frowned. “What's wrong?”  
“What's  _wrong_ —?” Qui-Gon repeated in disbelief.

“I don't understand.”

He felt tired. So tired. Qui-Gon stared at him, apparently horrified to the point of muteness.

“It's convenient,” Obi-Wan pointed out, voice mumbling now, taking far too much effort to be heard at  _all._ “I thought I'd have to linger several more years; instead I'm released early. And you didn't want me anymore, neither did Anakin, so beneficial all the way around.”

“How can you  _say_ that?”  
Obi-Wan gave up trying to make sense of the confusion in the other man's voice.

He just wanted to sleep.

His eyelids drooped shut as he felt Qui-Gon shaking him. “Stay awake! Obi-Wan, stay with me!  _Healer!_ Come on, Obi-Wan, don't do this.”

Obi-Wan lost his grip on his shielding, the lid falling off the wound he'd carried for years now.

_Oops._

Someone cried out in agony.

It certainly wasn't Obi-Wan.

He felt warm, and for the first time since his soul's injury, it didn't hurt.

Why in hell's name would he go  _back_ ?

He took one last look at the ties holding the spark of life to his body.

After a moment of consideration, he tossed free the moorings, watched as that tiny, flickering flame floated up, up, away.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Obi-Wan had been safe.

Warm, and the pain was gone, he was just cradled and his mind empty of the doubts and griefs.

And then all of that was gone, and all the wretchedness came pouring back in.

He didn't want this. Why would Qui-Gon insist, one last time, in forcing his will upon Obi-Wan?

Of course...

It might no longer  _be_ the last time.

Obi-Wan opened betrayed eyes, caught sight of Qui-Gon, who clearly  _knew_ and had chosen hell for Obi-Wan  _anyway._

It was a shock to see golden eyes staring back at him, but it was hardly a surprise.

 

* * *

 

Bant was at her wits' end.

Obi-Wan had been ripped back, out of the loving embrace of the Cosmic Force, and stuffed back into his broken body. Wrenched from safety and acceptance and where he  _wanted_ to be, forced back into a place of agony—

For the most selfish of reasons.

Qui-Gon just didn't want him dead.

No matter what Obi-Wan wanted.

No matter the fact that Obi-Wan's body and brain had been Force-burned, so,  _so_ badly, and  _none_ of that had been  _healed._

So little of it  _could_ be healed.

When broken, little wails escaped the now-writhing sufferer, tears of pain and despair slipping down cheeks and hands clawing at the covers, desperate for relief, Qui-Gon seemed to realize what he had done.

He allowed Bant to shove him out of the room, out the entire damn Halls of Healing, subdued by the knowledge of his decision...

But as the still-gold eyes proclaimed...

He wasn't at all sorry.

Somehow, even when a piercing scream nearly tore Bant's heart to shreds.

 

* * *

 

Quinlan stepped in to see Obi-Wan, ready to be cheerful, to try to lighten Obi-Wan's burden—

He caught one glimpse of the sunken eyes, the drawn and waxy skin, and the way the Force shuddered around him, with pain, with  _wrongness,_ with misery—

Quinlan spun out of the room, pressed his back against the wall, and shuddered as sudden tears leaked from his clenched-shut eyelids.

He felt Bant's presence, but he couldn't keep from swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“He looks like a corpse,” Quinlan choked. “Only still in pain, somehow.”

Bant sighed. “He can't stay here. The Force is too active on Coruscant, there's too many people.”

“But if he goes to some green planet, it'll be just as loud, only in a different way.”

“That broken bond? I can do nothing about. None of us can. It's just, open to the Force, and raw, and that is never going to heal.”  
“Quin?” rasped a weak voice from inside the room.

Quinlan shook his head, he couldn't endure it, couldn't— that was  _his Obi,_ in there, Stuffy-Wan, nose-always-in-a-book Kenobi, and much as Quinlan gave him grief over  _every last thing,_ Quinlan could recognize Obi-Wan was precious, in the Force. Something unique, something both infinitely fragile, and terrifyingly strong.

And he lay smashed, yet lingering on.

A shadow.

A ghost.

“He has to leave Coruscant, and he has to leave soon.”

Quinlan shook his head. “Or he dies again?”

“No. He'll just continue to deteriorate. It's been five days, Quin, and he hasn't eaten, hasn't consumed fluids, he should be dead again already, but he seems  _stuck_ now. His body is twisting in on itself, just...  _lasting..._ and it shouldn't. There's no medical reason for what's happening. He stopped screaming, and when I asked if that meant he hurt less, he told me it hadn't helped, so it seemed pointless to keep at it, and that it took too much energy. He's just enduring because he has no choice. But maybe, if we get him out of here in time, get him somewhere where the Force is quiet, he can...”

“He can  _what_ ? Just continue on? Alone and wounded and—”

“What other option do you  _have,_ Quin?” Bant hissed. “Taking your saber to him and  _hoping it works_ ?”

Quinlan's eyes snapped open to stare at her.

“Yeah,” Bant huffed. “Either we try to stabilize him, or we end it, but just standing by and watching him crater—?”

“I can't do it, Bant. None of us can. Even if we managed to gather up enough determination for it, we'd go in there, look in those eyes, and falter.”

Bant shook her head. “He's...  _good,_ Quin. He's just... decent and kind, and he's not  _meant_ for such a violent end.”

Quinlan nodded, feeling his heart break.

Out of all of them,  _why_ Obi-Wan? Gentle and—

_Green planets are loud..._

_Sterilized planets are quiet._

“Bant, I know where we can take him.”

 

* * *

 

“Certainly, I can grant you landing clearance. But I am confused. You are calling using Knight Kenobi's personal comm.” Twenty-nine years old, Satine Kryze held herself with all the internal command and dignity of a queen.

Mace had seen her via holo back before Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's mission to Mandalore, nearly a decade prior. She didn't look like the same person, but the fire that burned within her then still glowed behind her eyes. “Knight Kenobi has been severely, and permanently, injured. Your planet has only a small population left, and they're scattered in bubble-domes. Sundari has a very small population, so it will be quiet in the Force. Obi-Wan no longer has anything to protect him from the Force itself. He cannot endure more than just a little bit of it, keeping him alive.”

“You are asking for Knight Kenobi to live her permanently?” Satine clarified, looking stunned.

“Knight Kenobi has been released from service, with honors and what pomp we could scrape up last minute. His only task, his only creed, is to find what healing he can, and happiness, if possible.”

The fear hiding in her countenance only deepened. “He is a Knight, but without the burdens and responsibilities, then.”

“He is a Knight because to let him retire entirely would  _somehow_ make him feel bereft,” Mace clarified. “And the last thing we intend is to abandon him. There has been violence done against his mind, in the way it interacts with the Force and with other Force-strong individuals. I will be frank with you, Duchess. He died.”

Satine's fingers tightened into a fist, but that and the flicker of rage in her eyes were the only giveaway she'd heard.

“He was forced back into life, we're not really sure how, and the effects of it seem to be... devastating. Whatever expenses are required for Mandalorian physicians to keep him comfortable, the Order will cover—”

“Master Windu, Obi-Wan Kenobi is welcome on Mandalore, and will be cared for as one of our own. He has bled for this land, and this land will not forget that gift of blood it holds.”

_Vos said they were in love. I hope it is enough to make Obi-Wan's existence a little less of hell._

Mace didn't know if he  _could_ heal, but at least he might have a chance. “On behalf of Obi-Wan and the Jedi Order, I thank you. And on behalf of myself.” He paused, the pain in his heart so visceral that for a moment he couldn't speak.

She saw it, and compassion touched her face.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan dozed most of the flight to Mandalore. He was occasionally aware of some things.

Quinlan promising he would... something.

Bant, kissing his forehead.

Master Windu, gazing down at him with such sadness, such  _grief—_

Obi-Wan had wanted to reach out to him, assure him it wasn't worth such pain.  _I'm sure... I'm sure I'll fade away again soon._

_I can't possibly survive, with this much... carnage._

Because that's what it was, in his body, his mind, his soul. The Force, once comforting,  _hurt,_ no matter how kindly it was intended, and food had no taste.

_Look at me. An invalid._

A Jedi who couldn't even use the Force, could hardly bear to touch it, and yet when he closed himself off, his mind turned to fire and the ruined soul-bond left him screaming and thrashing.

So.

No cutting him off completely.

The next time he surfaced, just a bit, he found a beloved face looking down at him, a gentle hand with rough callouses caressing his cheek.

“Satine?” he whispered.

“I'm here, Obi. Rest now.”

He wouldn't call this half-unconscious dozing  _resting,_ but there was little more he  _could_ do. He didn't fight it as the exhaustion and pain drew him back into that numb, fuzzy place where his eyes were open, but didn't see, and no thoughts surfaced.

 

 


End file.
